


Uncle Alfie

by convenience



Series: The Whole Being Dead Thing [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie is really doing his best, Angsty Charlie, Gen, Grief, John is half naked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 09:55:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20544239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convenience/pseuds/convenience
Summary: Alfie finds that whatever is up there really has it out for him, and somehow counsels Charlie on his grief. John is half naked, but he's there, and that's what matters.





	Uncle Alfie

"What's your name?" Charlie asked the man sitting next to him on the hay, admiring his cane. "Why do you talk to me? Why can't other people see you?"

"Hold your horses, kid. One thing at a time." Alfie sighed, resting the cane on the hey. "My name is Alfie. I was a friend of your dad's, in our own strange way. I talk to you, kid, because you're the only one of your lot who thinks. And that's very fuckin valuable, isn't it?"

"Why were you friends with dad?" He asked again, now even more confused by this man he had come to trust. "He kills people. Did you know? Kills everyone."

"I'm aware, kid. You see, a few years ago, I found out I had a terminal fucking illness. I asked your dad to end my life so that I could carry on to where I am now without pain. Which is why I can talk to you, Charlie. Also means I can arrange your dad's study and files in ways that I know he doesn't like, because he can't see me as well as you can." Alfie rambled, trying to make it sound as nice as possible. He left out certain bits, because his aim here wasn't to make the kid hate him or Tommy. 

Karma was obviously a viable concept, because for how badly he had fucked over Tommy's life, he seemed to be righting it just as much. He hadn’t seemed to have met God yet, but he was sure that They, whoever They were, had it out for him.

"Oh." The child hummed, the cogs whirring fast in his head. "Arthur said death is a kindness."

"Did he now? Well for once your uncle has said a very true thing. Just the once, though." Alfie chuckled, remembering the man he'd only ever described as feral. It was apt, Alfie always thought. He was also making an extremely good attempt at not swearing around the little lord. 

"I don't want people to die. Don't want dad to kill them either." He said quietly, looking at the ground. "Why do you come to see me but my mom doesn't?" Charlie’s voice sounded softer, watery. It made Alfie’s gut twist in a way that not even death had. Here was this child, motherless, pained. God, did he sound like Tommy. Stubborn Tommy, who refused to understand or sympathise. Stubborn Tommy, who he still dreamt about even in death.

Fucking hell. Alfie debated just trying to die a second time. Not even death was peaceful. 

"Your dad only kills people when he knows that death is the best thing for them, alright? I'll do my best to find your mom, if that's what'd make your voice sound less sad." Alfie regretted saying it as soon as he did, but fucking hell, the kid looked and sounded so sad.

Tommy needed a good few parenting lessons, fucking hell. Alfie would berate him the next time he saw him, opium or not. Hell, even if he was fucking a heiress, he was getting a bollocking. Especially.

"Thanks, Alfie." Charlie sniffled, running over to hug the bear of a man. His small arms only reached around his front, underneath his arms. He squeezed the man tightly despite this, using the strange amount of power in his tiny body.

Alfie froze, but patted the child on the back. "That's alright, kid. You'll be alright. Go on up to the house, it's getting dark, yeah? Don't want your dad to worry."

"Yeah." Charlie gave Alfie one more reluctant squeeze and then ran off up the grass. 

Alfie watched him go, making sure he was safe. It scared him to know that Arthur Shelby Sr. was out there, wandering, waiting for Alfie to take his eyes off of the Shelby family for one second so he could pounce. He would kill that man another twenty times should he have to.

"He'll be alright, Solomons. Go find Grace and make sure she talks to the kid, yeah?" 

He turned his head and there was John Shelby, standing next to him with a machine gun. Shirtless, of course, but the machine gun was the most noticeable thing. If you had met John Shelby for even a second, you would understand that it felt like his natural form was shirtless.

"What the fuck, Shelby? How the fuck did you smuggle a gun into the afterlife? You trying to condemn yourself or something you dumb fuck?" Alfie asked, holding back a laugh. 

"Died with it." John's grin was something else, proud of himself as he looked over at Arrow house. "Esme and the kids are asleep. None of mine have got the gift, and Esme will kill god himself if anything threatens them." 

Alfie nodded solemnly, amused by the Shelby. He was amused by all of them, really. The ones who married in were even worse, he mused. Esme, for example, was possibly capable of killing all of the world’s deities and stuffing the heads for her new interior design plans. aThey were like really angry Chihuahuas. "I'll be back by morning. Don't shoot your own bollocks off."

“Good luck, Solomons. Don’t mention the thing between you and Tommy, yeah? She’s aggressive, and a dead dead mom isn’t best for Charlie.” John told him, looking over his shoulder. 

“You fucking what, Shelby?” 

“I’m dead too, Alfie. I see Lizzie’s face when he says your name in bed. Disturbing, really, seeing as I wanted to marry her at some point, but funny.” John commented, still watching Arrow house like a hawk.

“Fucking hell. Not having this conversation tonight, no.” Alfie groaned, tapping his cane against the floor. “Good luck. I’m going to find Burgess.”


End file.
